


Some Prayers Count More Than Others

by sp8ce



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Drabble, Episode: s01e12 Faith, Gen, Having Faith, One Shot, Prayer, Religion, Season/Series 01, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27554497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp8ce/pseuds/sp8ce
Summary: "God isn’t evil for letting this twist of luck let you down. There is no cold in this universe. There just isn’t enough heat sometimes. And God isn’t ever evil. But sometimes his love doesn’t warm your body on a February morning, even if the sun’s rays are strong against you and the frost."Layla Rourke has a visitor when she returns home from Le Grange.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Some Prayers Count More Than Others

You had told yourself that it had really been just for your mother. The faith you had was iridescent, hope like shimmering sunlight through trees, definitely. And you’d give anything for a few more summers. But there was always this pit in your stomach, waiting, prepared, for when you’d lose your shot at recovery. Because people die every day, and that doesn’t make God any less good. And it doesn’t make them any less good either.

You tell yourself all of this, but when your mom is driving you back to your apartment, the one you were determined to keep until your symptoms were too intense, all you can think is how the the rainy sky is Christmas morning chocolates and you weren’t ready to savour radio static for the last time. 

You believe in Heaven, and you truly thought you were ready to die. That it was your mother you were leaving behind that couldn’t accept your fate. You’d hold on to everything in the world for her, for your sister, for your two closest friends who were trying so very hard to not act like they wanted to cry every time they saw you. But you weren’t ready to leave them either. And it didn’t really hit you until all your mother’s desperate attempts at saving you had failed.

You didn’t want it to show though. So you prayed, so you dared smiles at your mother every time she looked at you with that heartbreak you’d do anything to protect her from. It wasn’t her fault, you want to tell her again and again. It wasn’t genetic. These things happen. You’re scared she’s going to have a crisis of faith over this. But she needs to be prepared, prepared to talk to you when you’re gone, prepared to know you’re somewhere better. She needs her faith now more than ever.

God isn’t evil for letting this twist of luck let you down. There is no cold in this universe. There just isn’t enough heat sometimes. And God isn’t ever evil. But sometimes his love doesn’t warm your body on a February morning, even if the sun’s rays are strong against you and the frost.

You’re having trouble ever being warm, now. You can’t tell if it’s a symptom of the brain tumour, or a symptom of finding it near impossible to eat anymore.

When you return to your apartment, however, it’s late into the night, and something feels off. You’re momentarily terrified, until you see the man. 

You don’t know him, and logically you know, especially considering what happened to you a few years back, that you should immediately be struck by fear, run, scream, try to get away from this stranger. But instead you feel something very different: you feel peace.

“Layla Rourke?” the man says. 

“Yes, who are you?” you ask. The man looks a little perplexed, at you, at something about the way you’re holding yourself. You’d think he’s shocked at how calm you are, except for the fact he actually looks so alien. Not by dress, by any account, he’s just wearing a suit and a tan trench coat, but something about the way he stares at you feels otherworldly.

“My name is Castiel. I am here to answer the prayer of Dean Winchester,” he says, and his voice is very low. You feel somewhat ill, but Dean -- you remember Dean. He was the guy with the heart condition, the one who got healed. The one who couldn’t see the goodness inside himself, and you’re still grateful at least now he might get the time to get the chance. 

Even if your mother hates him, blames him, for being healed when you aren’t.

“I’m going to sit down, do you want to talk?” you say. He tilts his head to the side. Are you a puzzle to him? Did Dean send a friend as a prank? But mostly, you feel so very fatigued right now. He sits down on your couch in your dark living room, the lights of Topeka’s suburb street lights letting you see the man. You sit in the armchair across from him. “So you know Dean?”

“I do, I mean--I will,” he says.

“You will?”

“Well, yes. I do often view time very linearly, but I’m currently twisted outside it, a bit,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, and it’s a lot to take in at once. But Dean was also healed from a terminal condition and so were several others in front of your eyes, so you know that there’s more to this world than appears.

“He wants you to live,” Castiel says. 

“I hate to disappoint him,” you say. “And perhaps you too? But I doubt that is very likely, at this point.”

“You are a very good human, bright soul,” Castiel says. “I see why Dean liked you. I wanted to know what made you so special.”

“Made me so special?”

“To make Dean pray for you.”

“I’m glad I had a positive influence on him,” you say. You’re a little sure of where this is going, and you still have an itch to call the police on this man, but his presence still radiates a calmness to you. “Can I ask why you’re here?”

“I am here to heal you,” Castiel says. “Time travel is... precarious when you try to change events, but you were alive in the timeline, and it turns out I had healed you, so this should be alright. Dean just never knew and assumed you died.”

“Are you a faith healer?” you ask. 

“No, I am an angel of the Lord,” Castiel says. You draw drops. It feels like light, you realise, it feels like light has infiltrated your veins, the passageways through your organs, your nerve cells. “So I will heal you,” Castiel adds, and he walks toward you, hand inches above your forehead, and the light feels like it’s turned to fire. You’re exhausted, when it stops, the light so real and bright it hurts your eyes dimmed back to darkness, but there’s a fatigue that lifts, and for the first time in a very long time, you realise you can actually think clearly. “You should find your symptoms are gone now. I wish you a good--”

“Wait!” you call out. You don’t want this angel to disappear yet. You have a million questions, and you realise, somewhere deep in your gut, that all your hope and faith aside, you never actually expected a miracle.

“Yes?”

“What about Dean’s prayers were important? More important than mine, my church’s, my mothers? Why save me? I don’t understand.” Castiel sighs at that, like he was almost afraid you’d ask him.

“Your prayers are important. But angels try to not be involved with human affairs ever. You have a spot for you in Heaven, Layla. Your faith does not go unrewarded.”

“But why mention Dean?”

“Dean is -- how do I say this? Dean has friends in high places,” Castiel says.

“Do you... know him? I don’t understand. Dean is an atheist?”

“I know it must be confusing, the fact your cognition was so impaired before, but Layla, I meet Dean in the future. I do not know him now. He does not believe angels exist, but he will.”

“I am glad he does,” you say. Dean is someone... someone special, you think. His eyes reminded you of tall green grass, lying on the ground, peering through it while the sun lights it up. Very kind, you think. Very kind. “I’m still confused,” you admit.

“I.... admit I was curious. About you, that is.” Castiel says, and he looks like he’s searching you, or maybe looking right through you. 

“Why?”

“Because you were the first reason in many years that Dean prayed. Dean, he very rarely prays. And when he does, usually, it’s--” Castiel looks away, and for a second you see a flash of something very human in his eyes. Something like heartache. “It was usually to me.”

“You love him,” you say, and it’s more of a statement than a question, but the lack of response lingers in the air for a minute before Castiel responds.

“I do. I love all of humanity,” he says. “But, yes--Dean is special. Dean is a.... Friend?” He looks out of place now, like trying to make sense of something he’s not really sure how to make sense of. 

“A friend that made you curious about why he would pray for me?” you ask. It’s innocent, more of a way of clarifying the situation, a way to put closure on the biggest question you’ve ever had in your life: why is an angel in my living room. But something about it makes Castiel flinch. 

“Yes,” he says, and it’s even terser than his normal, gravelly tone. 

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

“Time travel can sometimes be draining, even for angels,” Castiel says. He looks away, but he doesn’t leave. “I am fine.”

“Do you want to talk about Dean? Because I have to be honest, I don’t know much about him,” you admit. 

“I do,” Castiel says. “I do want to talk about Dean. But that is not your burden.”

“You just saved my life, and honestly, what sort of Christian would I be if I didn’t want to talk to an angel of God? I am... I am holding myself from bombarding you with questions as we speak.”

“I can’t tell you much, I am not supposed to interfere at all. Sometimes--sometimes I can’t help it. But it’s not strictly part of my mission.”

“But there is a Heaven? There is a God?”

“Yes, Layla, but you already knew that.”

“Okay, I asked you a question. Now you can tell me about Dean, or whatever is on your mind that’s bothering you so.”

“That is ill-advised,” Castiel says. “Dean is just -- I am so terrified of letting him down. He is very important to me.”

“And you don’t usually make friends with humans?”

“I am also friends with his brother, Sam, some people close to them. Dean is special.”

“I met Sam too, very tall, kind smile?”

“Yes, that is him.”

“What makes Dean so special?” Castiel looks away again. He seems to have trouble maintaining eye contact, when asked about this. “Are you not supposed to find him so special?”

“No, I am not. I bet--” Castiel cuts himself off. “I should go.”

“Obviously I can’t stop you, of course you’re welcome. 

“Dean cares so brightly,” Castiel says. “He wants so badly to save everyone, to protect everyone. Including you.” You want to say  _ Well so does my mother _ but you think perhaps now is not the time.

“I owe him a great gratitude, you too, Castiel. When you go, will I see you again?”

“I do not believe so. Or Dean, for that matter. But you should be able to live your life. You should be able to have the healing you wanted, from the man whose wife had a reaper on a leash.”

“A what on a what? A.. reaper?” 

“Yes, the faith healer. He was not an angel. He was a good man, though, his wife was not.”

“I see,” you say. “Is that why Dean didn’t want him to heal me?”

“Yes, someone else would have died in your place. Well, actually, at one point his wife was going to have Dean die in your place. Which obviously is a terrible outcome.”

“Yes, I can see how,” Layla says. “And you... healing me? That’s... no one will be hurt?”

“No, no one will be hurt.”

“You seem hurt?”

“I just... I miss Dean,” Castiel admits. 

“Can you not be with him?” Castiel sighs.

“It’s complicated. It was a pleasure, meeting you here. In this dark room.” Castiel says. “I will go for sure now.”

“Well, Dean is certainly blessed, to have you,” you say, noticing this angel is rather obsessed with the man. Castiel shakes his head though.

“I think perhaps it is more of a curse.”

He disappears at that though, and that’s what solidifies it as real for you. He just disappears, into thin air, like you were never there at all.

The calmness evaporates too, the peace at his presence, and you’re suddenly utterly rattled. Did an angel just... heal you? Are you having hallucinations from your tumour? Weren’t they not due for another few months? What’s happening? You’re terrified.

You immediately catch a taxi to the hospital, where they repeatedly assure you that your head CT and your MRI are fine, that no, there is no tumour in there, that you realise that miracles really do exist.

And angels aside, they come in the form of your loved one’s smiles, when they realise they have more time with you alive.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm rewatching Supernatural so maybe I will have fanfic so that doesn't make people's eyes bleed.  
> Anyways, this idea came into my brain so here it exists. We don't know she dies so, now you have a way to know she doesn't!


End file.
